


Safe, Sane, Consensual

by lysanatt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BDSM, D/s, M/M, Not between pairing, content: D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:52:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dudley saves a young man from a fate worse than, well, almost everything. Only Dudley hasn't considered the implications of bringing home a stray wizard and soon he realises that being in control of one's life is not as easy as it sounds, despite being on top in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe, Sane, Consensual

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** Rape--which of course has nothing to do with consensual Dom/sub content.

**1\. Safe**

Draco's hair is white against the slight dusting of snow that covers the dirty London alley. The road, on the other hand, is cold and dark, like the night, which, broken up by the whiteness of a few far-too-early snowflakes, shrouds the city. Time stretches out like a rubber band, narrow and tight between the fingers of a playing child, or perhaps a house-wife wrapping it around a plastic bag. Time is cold and wet and indefinite and most of all: it is scary, frightening, immense.

The man on top of him is heavy, weighing him down, too large for Draco to move. Moving is difficult. It is as if his body and his mind are paralysed, as if this is happening to somebody else. And perhaps it is. The Draco of the now is not the Draco Malfoy of the past. Although Draco realises that this... _situation_ had been more likely to happen to him before - when he was Voldemort's lapdog and Greyback was looking at him, devouring him with his predator eyes in a way which reflected how the man would have used teeth and hands on Draco, had he had leave from their lord. But like his past, his wand has sifted through his fingers and disappeared in the darkness. He is defenceless against the attacker.

'Filthy little boy... you want it,' the man on top of Draco groans as he tears Draco's tight trousers open with November-cold fingers, icy iron-hard fingers.

Somewhere in the part of Draco's mind that has not yet given in to the paralysis that seems to have taken over his body, a reply forms and exits. 'Obviously,' Draco sneers, the only expression of his repulsion and his anger that is left, 'if you were the last man on earth and there were no more gorillas.' Finally, the fear catches up with Draco's entire being. 'Help,' he tries, at first subdued, then more forcefully. 'Help!'

The unknown man on top of him tries to quiet him with a disgusting hand over his mouth, but Draco will have none of it. He bites at the white, doughy flesh as hard as he can, earning him the satisfaction of a pained outcry, then, less satisfactory, a blow on the cheek, hard enough to make him see stars. He shouts for help again through tears and disgust as the man moves on top of him, snow and sleet seeping into Draco's underwear as the thin trousers finally give in. 'Rape! Help! God, help!'

 

Dudley hates London. He dislikes the hustle and bustle of the high streets, he hates the shops, he hates the bloody weather, although it is hard to blame London for the wet slough and the damp cold that sneaks into coats and boots and gloves. He dislikes the looks people send him, as if his mere size is an offence to them. Okay, perhaps less shaved head and fewer rings and piercings might have helped, but Dudley likes himself that way. Not to look scary, no; it has been a long time since he had need for that, but because he likes his naked skin and the carefully selected jewellery - some of it put in and on places that would probably scare people even more if they knew. It is not as if Dudley has become a sweet, adorable puppy, but the satisfaction of seeing fear in people's eyes is no longer there. Somewhere along the way from sixteen to twenty-nine, Dudley became an adult. Now he builds things, houses. He does no longer tear down lives with fear as he once did.

But Dudley hates London anyway, and the only reason he is here is because he wants to indulge. Not that that particular exercise is foreign to him, not at all, but this kind of indulgence is new. He brushes with a heavy hand over the new leather trench coat he is wearing. Tailor-made, of course. The leather is soft and pliable, like the boy he'd-

Dudley shakes his head and tries to concentrate. he needs to remember the way to the club. He has only been to Vauxhall once before, for an introduction event. He looks for the railway bridge and turns down Kennington Lane. The street is dimly lit, as if the whiff of winter is doing its best to consume the golden light with its black rotting teeth.

Passing a tavern on his left, Dudley hesitates. He doesn't know why, it just seems like the right thing to do. And since _right things to do_ are concerning Dudley lately, he gives in to the feeling and he stops. A faint cry hangs in the air, hesitating, too, luring him into exploring its origin. A seagull or a fox, most likely. But Dudley turns around anyway, walking the few steps back, only to walk down the narrow passage along the Vauxhall Tavern. The railway arches close the passage to the left. A lawn with black, naked trees against the dark, naked night create a strange urban wilderness where wild animals live. Animals. Seagulls. Predators.

'-lp! Help!' The cry sounds again, and this time, Dudley is not in doubt. 'Oi!' he shouts into night. 'What the bleeding hell is going on here?'

'Help!' This time the voice carries, as if Dudley in some odd way has lent his strength to it. 'Help me!'

A cloud moves and the clear winter's moon shines for a moment, dissolving the darkness into a similarly grey light. There, behind the trees, two moving forms create the scenario that Dudley truly did not wish to see: a large man on top of a half-naked boy, fighting for his life or for his virtue--which one, Dudley doesn't know, and more importantly: he doesn't care. In a few quick strides, his Martens' thudding heavily across the tarmac before the sound of his steps are dampened by the grass, Dudley is there, the larger man barely managing to recognise his presence before it is too late. The fingers of one hand is tightly wound around the throat of a slender man with moonlight for hair and stars for eyes. Even in his need, the man is beautiful.

'Help me,' the victim pleads again, croaking. 'Help!'

'It'd be my pleasure,' Dudley replies politely although his voice is brimming with violence and disgust. And a pleasure it is. The satisfying, wet sound of a Doc's toe connecting with the face of the rapist. The crack, sounding merely as a twig snapping, as the man's nose breaks. The lovely sensation of steel-enforced boots hitting the body of the perpetrator who rolls over in an attempt to protect himself. _Fat, no muscles_ , Dudley thinks, and kicks the man in the ribs as hard as he can, which is quite an impact. Dudley smiles cruelly as the man tries to get up. Another kick, this time between the legs. This time the man cries out, sobbing, begging for mercy. 'That should teach you,' Dudley snorts, granting the rapist the relative mercy he did not bestow on his own victim. 'If I ever see you again, I'm going to kill you,' Dudley says softly, knowing the meaning will come through much clearer and much more seriously than had the same words been shouted. 'After I've pulled your prick off and fed it to you. Now bugger off.' Only then, Dudley turns to the young man on the ground. 'Or would you rather I did that right away?' he asks, looking down.

The young man seems unfazed, but it might be the shock. 'No, I'll do that myself if you'd just help me find my wan-' He cuts himself off and now the blond man looks afraid. 'Forget it. Just help me get up. No Police! I- I can't...' Behind them, the perpetrator scrabbles to get away and he disappears, not entirely conscious, judging from the sounds he makes as he connects with some of the trees behind the tavern.

In the seconds that pass, Dudley's mind manages to keep up with the world around it. Oh. One of _those_. Dudley is really not in the mood for wizards of any kind, as if he ever was. Of course assuming that the missing item in question truly is a wand. ' _Thank you for your kind help, Sir_ ,' Dudley mocks, not because sarcasm is more fun than beating the crap out of people, but mostly because it would be slightly contradictory kicking the victim, seeing he has just saved the young man from a violent and cruel fate. 'A bit of gratitude wouldn't hurt anyone,' he says and reaches down, grabbing the man by the collar of his flimsy coat, pulling him up. The coat slides down the man's shoulders, leaving a surprise for Dudley. 'Well, well, well...' he whispers appreciatively, despite the wrongness of it. White, soft leather, thin silk and naked skin shine palely in the dim light, making Dudley take a deep breath.

'I suppose,' the man says, ignoring Dudley's stare. 'I forgot my manners, not precisely a situation that does one any good. Thank you.' He, in turn, squints. Dudley watches as the man's eyes slide over his bald head, over the piercings in one ear, over the silver chains and the heavy rings, over the tailor-made leather jacket and further down, to the torn Levi's and the now slightly messy Doc Martens. There is a mass of something disgusting on one of them. Clotted blood, probably. 'On your way to... a... erm... club?' the man asks, half-way suspiciously.

'Same place as you were going, I think,' Dudley replies. ' _The Hoist_.' He has only been to the club once, but the man looks like every wet dream Dudley has ever had about young, submissive boys. 'My first time,' he adds, maybe to comfort the man. Comforting others is not Dudley's best feature. 'I'm not like that scum-' he looks in the direction where the rapist arsehole disappeared. 'Are you all right?'

Only then does the unfazed expression fade. 'I...' The man's legs are shaking and his voice breaks. 'No...' The man makes a weak movement, the twitch of a hand raised as if to plead for help again.

Somehow, with his lanky helplessness, this china-white brittle human gets to Dudley. Basically it calls forth sensations, feelings that he has rarely felt before. Feelings which need an outlet. Protection. Safety. Trust. Dudley knows he is able, he has just never seen the purpose of it before. Not really. His cousin does not count -- that was a slip. _Bloody Potter_. Dudley reaches out, slowly as not to scare the man in front of him. 'Don't worry... I'll keep you safe,' he promises, strangely satisfied with the sound of the sentence. He slides his massive arm around the man's slender back. 'Let's find your wand and then I'll see you safely home.'

 

**2\. Sane**

'Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.' Draco still clutches his wand with both hands, shaking. He feels like a scared puppy, thin and cold, against Dudley's much bigger frame. 'You?'

'Dudley. Dursley. And, no, I didn't go to that school of yours.' Dudley makes a derisive snort. 'My cousin is...' Dudley sends the taxi-driver a glance. The glass between them should make for a bit of privacy. 'My cousin is Harry Potter, I suppose you know of him. Not particularly fond of him, to say it mildly. Stuck-up little fag. But not entirely useless, from what I hear.'

That makes Draco react. He turns his head, eyeing Dudley's piercings and the attire which to some degree outs him as precisely that, a... _fag_. A dominant, man-loving bloody fag. 'Pot, kettle.' He laughs, softly at first, then almost hysterically. 'Potter's cousin? Fag?' Draco's laughter changes into sobs, as if everything that has happened, the entirety of the brutal events finally reaches him. 'Potter's cousin,' Draco breathes between sobs, turning his face into Dudley's broad chest.

The taxi hums through the night as Draco Malfoy does his best to soak Dudley's brand new 500£ leather coat with snot and tears and strangely enough, Dudley doesn't care. 'I live in Enfield,' Dudley informs the still sobbing Draco, almost casually and a bit superfluously as they are already on their way there. 'Where do you-'

'With you!' Draco interrupts, only for a second removing his face from Dudley's chest. 'Don't want to go home! You _promised_ to keep me sa- safe!' Draco sobs again, and Dudley doesn't protest, he just pulls him close, as if to say that everything will be all right, that he'll keep the promise he made.

'I did.' Dudley regrets it, a little. Wizards are repulsive, dangerous. They are not decent people, that much he learnt from his father. Then again, hadn't his parents' opinions turned out to be wrong, seeing that Harry actually saved Dudley's life? _Pay-back-time_ , Dudley murmurs, rubbing Draco Malfoy's back soothingly. 'Isn't there anyone who'll miss you?'

' _evowse_ ' Draco's words are muffled by the leather. He moves his head half an inch and tries again. 'I'm divorced. Family didn't like it.' The explanation elicits more sobs, as if the wounds from breaking up his marriage are still open.

'Had a girlfriend once,' Dudley volunteers. 'Didn't work.'

'What, with you being gay and into...' It seems to amuse Draco Malfoy, despite his sobbing and tears.

'Yeah. She wasn't man enough for me,' Dudley grins. The woman had been nice enough, apart from the lack of cock and the fact that she didn't like it when Dudley liked it rough.

Draco doesn't ask more questions. He sits quietly, leaning against Dudley. His breathing becomes calmer, the sobs subside. They sit in the dark for a while; the late cars still floating towards London on the A10 light up the cabin once in a while. Dudley is not sure how long it takes before the driver takes a left turn, towards the town park.

'We're here,' he says, a second before the driver stops the car. 'If you'd still...'

'I'd still,' says Malfoy with a determination that makes Dudley think that dominance certainly doesn't come with size.

 

Somehow the question of Draco going back to wherever it is he lives never comes up. Deep thoughts are not exactly Dudley's forte, but he does to some degree realise that his late liberation from his parents is still not over, for the slender wizard is everything his parents detest, everything they hate. Most of all, Draco is one more thing: he is something that Dudley has taken for himself, not something, _someone_ , who was chosen out of somebody else's desire. His parents' desire. Draco is _his_. Dudley's choice, Dudley's decision.

Apart, of course, from the fact that the decision is solely Draco's, and Dudley is fine with that, oddly fine. The adult who was once the spoilt child Dudley is becoming increasingly tolerant with the adult Draco who increasingly becomes more and more spoilt by Dudley. Perhaps because it is the only way to comfort Dudley knows. It is a little like having a fine pet, one that one does not pull wings or legs off and it is an entirely new experience for Dudley.

Living with Draco is not unpleasant. There has been nightmares, of course, Draco waking up, caught in the memories of the attack. Slowly Dudley discovers the pleasure of giving comfort although he still knows little of it: a cup of tea, a warm blanket or just the appreciation from Draco when Dudley, half-asleep, opens the bedroom door to ask if Draco is okay. That Draco seem to thrive on the attention and fumbling care is yet another bonus for Dudley, who has never been used to share or give anything away willingly.

Now Dudley is learning. Life with other people seems to improve by regarding it as a two-way street - a steady stream of give and take. Some "gives" Dudley are not fond of, however: the sofa is nice, but Dudley is slightly tired of sleeping there; he wants his bed back. Only Draco sleeps in it, and despite Dudley's lack of sensitivity, he is not _that_ insensitive: Draco stays, and Dudley is not going to share the bed with him. Not until...

And that is the problem, that little _until_. Unfortunately Draco Malfoy is everything Dudley could wish for, except the minor problem that the man is a wizard and the victim of a crime so vile that Dudley, not even at his worst would commit a similar act. Draco is, however, beautiful and... well, to die for. Dudley can live with just looking. _Until_...

Draco is spoilt, arrogant, sensitive, gorgeous, annoying. Basically Dudley has trouble keeping his mind from wandering into the mine field that is his growing attraction to his unexpected room-mate. Why Draco stays... that is an enigma. He has a son, a family, riches, a world which Dudley knows little of. Dudley has no illusions about _his_ charm and beauty, compared to that.

'I feel safe here,' Draco says when Dudley asks him. 'It has been a long time since I felt safe.'

Dudley doesn't ask any further questions. He knows, obviously, about the war in the wizard world years ago. If any of the stuff going on now is remotely as scary as those cold monsters that Potter saved him from, Dudley understands Draco's reluctance when it comes to returning to the wizards. Then again, Dudley is but a simple brickie-turned-building contractor, and no wizard. He knows that he might be able to fight off rapists and criminals by mere force and size, but wizards? Never. _They_ and their world are truly frightening.

Except for Draco, of course.

Two weeks pass by and Dudley's life with Draco begins to look surprisingly like a marriage. He gets up early, Draco joins him and together they make a quick breakfast. Dudley leaves in his van and returns late - only to find Draco attempting to ruin his kitchen by making dinner. Dudley teaches Draco how to use the dishwasher and the microwave. 'Couldn't cook either, when I left my parents' place,' he admits. 'I suppose you have some kind of... spells to do the cooking?' He eyes the suspicious-looking steak that Draco has brought to the brink of cremation. 'You might want to give it less heat or shorter time.'

'Let me try another one,' Draco demands. 'I can do this.' He dumps the appalling piece of meat in the rubbish bin. 'And I don't know any spells.'

'Clearly not! Draco, they are not _free_!' Dudley watches £10 disappear into thin air. 'Let me teach you.'

'Oh, yes, please,' Draco says and his eyes shine. 'Please!'

Dudley suddenly is in doubt of what, exactly, it is that Draco needs to be taught, but the implications of _that_ thought is a bit too complicated right now. It is, however, satisfying to know that Draco in the future will be able to serve a meal that does not resemble a pile of charcoal.

The third week and the fourth come and go, without Draco showing even the merest attempt to leave. And on the fifth Sunday - a bright and sunny winter morning - Dudley puts down the spoon next to his perfectly boiled breakfast egg (Draco's doing) and asks the question he would never have thought he would come to ask someone like Draco Malfoy. Beautiful, precious, costly Draco... Draco who could have _anyone_. Dudley has come to the conclusion that their co-habitation is close to perfect. 'I wonder,' Dudley says, oddly anxious about the outcome, 'if you'd like to stay... I mean... live... live here? With me.'

Draco just cocks his head, turns his coffee mug and nods. 'Yes.'

Just like that. _Yes_. No hesitation. No questions about rent, or about what kind of relationship they are going to have, or, basically about anything. Just _yes_. It is a kind of acceptance that Dudley has never before experienced: trust, explicit trust, and it feels fantastic. He has promised to keep Draco safe, and this is how Draco repays him. Truly fantastic! Draco Malfoy doesn't want just anyone, he wants Dudley, and it is almost too good to believe. 'Sure?' Dudley asks, even though Draco sounds as if he means what he says. He waits for the impact of the joke or whatever game Draco is playing, but he knows already that they are not playing games. Games are over for Dudley. They were the moment he set eyes on the damned wizard.

A small smile blooms on Draco's lips. 'Yes!' He speaks as if Dudley is twelve and very slow. Dudley is twenty-nine. And slow, indeed. But he doesn't ask again.

It is, though, as if the clear winter sun shines a little bit more brightly.

When the sun goes down, and the evening shrouds itself in the cold darkness and the black sky is strewn with silver stars, Dudley lights the fire in the fireplace that he has built with his own hands. It isn't as if he has turned romantic, or is setting up an attempt to seduce Draco. -Whether their relationship is going to turn more intimate is not his decision to make, not after Draco's ordeal. He merely wants to be able to sit comfortably and warm in the sofa, watching his favourite TV-show, maybe luring Draco out of the den he has made of what was once Dudley's bedroom. Now the room seems to be a cross between a Bedouin tent and a library - the minimalistic, light furniture Dudley put there has vanished mysteriously, and has instead been replaced by antique mahogany, heavy velvets, feather-light silks and leather-bound books in tall stacks. Dudley has no idea, either, where the huge crystal candelabra come from.

With a cup of steaming Earl Grey, Dudley finds the remote and turns on the telly. It doesn't take long before Draco, almost like a cat, sneaks into the living room. 'Wanna sit here?' Dudley asks and pulls the woollen blanket aside. 'Cold?'

'No.' He sits down on the edge of the sofa, contemplatively.

Dudley puts his tea down and looks at Draco. He suppresses an urge to call _here, kitty, kitty_. Only if Draco comes willingly the action has any meaning. No matter what that meaning might be.

'A little,' Draco says. 'Cold.'

Dudley does nothing. He sits there quietly and waits for Draco's decision.

Draco eyes the blue blanket. He glances at Dudley, almost encouragingly.

Slowly Dudley reaches out and grabs the corner of the blanket, pulling it up. 'Yes?'

Draco's lips curl at the corners, a bit like the corners of his eyes when a rare smile hits them. He slips under the blanket and cuddles up, his slender back against Dudley's massive arm. Draco's breathing is almost inaudible, but the ghost of a sigh still reaches Dudley's ears. He, too, relaxes and wraps his arm around Draco's shoulder. 'Don't worry,' he murmurs, his mouth almost hidden in Draco's hair, 'I'll take good care of you.'

'I know,' Draco says, his lips moving over the skin of Dudley's neck. 'I trust you, Dudley.'

'I'm glad.' Dudley is. It is the first time Draco has initiated any physical contact between them since that horrible night. Dudley wasn't certain that the moment would ever come. A man of few words, they haven't talked about the attack, the same way that Dudley never spoke to anyone about those Dementors afterwards. They both have their silent wounds, it seems. One day they might be able to talk about their ordeals, but not yet. For now, there is just the warmth between their bodies, and Draco's thin, soft hand that sneaks its way into Dudley's much larger one.

 

Dudley has never been one for showing emotions, his true emotions; the anger and dissatisfaction of the spoilt child he once was do not count. Those _real_ emotions... it is as if they collide with his massive skull. They refuse to come out as anything else but harsh touches though his large hands, which over the years have grown callused with the hard work he had done in various building sites. Dudley _is_ still Dudley, though, with his expensive Rolexes--a sparkling brand new Sea-Dweller Deepsea is the last of many--his four computers and an assorted range of consoles. He still likes playing Mega-Mutilation. But Dudley, despite his limited range of emotions and brains, now enjoys that he is in control of his life - it took him long enough to see how much his parents had taken over his entire life, his opinions, his body, letting him eat until the fat became both armour and prison.

Instead he is glad he built his house solidly--in more ways than one. Being a rather well-to-do contractor has laid the foundation for the life he is now able to offer Draco Malfoy. Despite the fact that Draco craves nothing but safety and comfort for now, it makes Dudley feel safe in the knowledge that Draco will want for nothing. A nice, well-designed house, quality furniture and a bank account that might withstand a crisis or two: yes, Dudley controls his own life.

Despite their cuddling session in the sofa, the evening passes by, looking like every other Sunday evening they have spent together. Draco makes tea and they eat together in the large kitchen, talking about what's on the telly and whatever plans Dudley has for tomorrow. At bedtime they do what they have done every night: they separate. Draco disappears into Dudley's bedroom, and Dudley refuses to use the guest bedroom, sleeping on the sofa as he has done every night since Draco arrived. He wants to be certain that the nightmares are not disturbing Draco's sleep, and in case they do, he wants to be near as not to cause Draco any further discomfort by letting him feeling lost and alone.

Only this night _is_ different.

 

**3\. Consensual**

Dudley can hear Draco pottering about in the bedroom. Perhaps he is reading or writing, Dudley has noticed that Draco does that a lot. Draco is smart and strangely enough it doesn't bother Dudley at all, not like it did with Potter. They each have their talents: there is little doubt that Draco appreciates Dudley's strength and protection. Hell, even his company seems to please Draco. And Dudley can think of little he would rather do than please Draco--in any possible way.

'Dudley?' Draco opens the door to the bedroom and Dudley can hardly hold back a pleased sigh. Long legs, a nice, if slightly thin chest, narrow hips and, good Lord, behind the thin fabric of the tight boxers, long and slender, like its owner, Draco shows that his interest in Dudley might not be entirely Platonic.

'Yes,' Dudley says, dry-mouthed. He sits up, pulls off the duvet, showing off involuntarily what hard work on work-sites does to a man. He pulls back on the duvet as not to make Draco feel uncomfortable.

'Mmhm,' Draco hums, 'don't do that.' He smiles. 'Aren't you tired of sleeping in here?'

'A bit. My... the bed is more comfortable, I hope?' Dudley hopes that Draco hasn't bewitched the thing into disrepair.

'Very.' Draco steps closer to the sofa. As he moves, Dudley cannot look away. Draco notices. 'And here I thought you didn't want me.'

'Why don't you just say something really embarrassing while you're at it?' Dudley can feel a blush in his cheeks. 'I'm not blind, you know, and you're gorgeous.'

Putting one hand on his hip, Draco poses in the most tempting way. There is only a flimsy barrier of silk and around five inches between his half erect cock and Dudley's blushing face. 'Good. Then you won't have any trouble taking what's yours, will you?'

Of course not. Dudley have dreamt of all the interesting ways he could take Draco, of fingers, hands, tongue, cock in one opening or the other. Of Draco being on his knees, crying out in pain and pleasure. Draco begging for more. Draco doing all sorts of pleasurable things on Dudley's command. Draco tied up, whipped, fucked, _loved_. 'It's too early. You don't know what you're asking for, Malfoy! That night-'

'That night an arsehole thought he could take from me what I only give to someone I trust, and willingly. I assume you know the difference between rape and dominance, because I certainly do!'

'Of course I know the difference.'

'I know. Which is why I trust you. I've been here over a month, and you've never treated me disrespectfully or assumed that you could just make me your damned slave or something similarly stupid.' Draco hesitates for a second before he continues his half-enraged rant, as if there is something he has overlooked. 'You are a _dom_ , yes? Don't tell me you went to Vauxhall that night just to look at the environment. You were on your way to _The Hoist_ , just like me. Who goes to an S/m-club just to get a drink?'

'I did. I went there to _learn_ , Draco. As not to fuck thing up, when...'

'...when you found someone who'd trust you enough to play with you?' Draco is teasing now, Dudley can hear it in his voice.

'No. When I found someone who'd not be against being with _me_ , and perhaps not being against letting me- letting me-' Dudley rubs an enormous hand over his brow. His erection is luckily softening.

'Letting you what, Dudley? Letting you deal the pleasure and pain your sub wants? Letting you-'

'Yes!' Dudley almost shouts, infuriated and scared at the same time. He gets up. Taking a step in Draco's direction. 'Yes! Someone like you, or to be honest, just _you_! Someone I can live with and take care of and have sex with and force to crawl for me and bloody love!' Dudley opens his mouth to say more, but luckily his brain stops working and he shuts it again. Crap. 'I didn't mean-'

One finger is laid softly against Dudley's' lips. 'I hope you did. That is all _I_ want, Dudley. You, and what _you_ want. Please?'

'And here a brilliant career as a pushy sub is set afloat,' Dudley announces dramatically, mostly to hide his emotions.

'Don't be daft.' Draco steps closer, and standing on tiptoe, he replaces the finger on Dudley's mouth with a kiss. 'I'll be your lover, not your pet. Except of course when it suits me.'

'I don't need to repeat what I just said about pushy subs, do I?' Dudley smiles, the kiss tingling on his lips. 'Come here,' he demands and pulls Draco into an embrace that could have made a bear lose its breath. Draco just laughs breathlessly and frees one arm so that he can throw it around Dudley's neck. He pulls one of Dudley's piercings, a bit too hard to be playful.

'You're sleeping with me tonight?' It might be a question, but Draco's tone of voice leaves no doubt: there will be no more sleeping on the sofa for Dudley.

'If it please your royal highness.' Dudley mocks, unable to keep hidden how happy he is. It is possible that his lover's idea of what a sub is is entirely different from the rest of the world's, and it will be interesting to explore this side of Draco. Dudley lets one big hand wander down Draco's back, to his firm arse. He swats is almost gently. 'Then again, maybe we need to address your disrespectful attitude before we go to sleep?' Trust goes both ways, Dudley discovers. His only failed attempt at dominance with his girlfriend left him insecure, but Draco's trust and need are encouraging. Dudley trusts Draco to lead him through it if he does something wrong or inadvertently hurts Draco more than he'd like.

Hands slide down Dudley's broad chest, fingertips resting on the silver piercing in the left nipple. 'What are you going to do?' Draco whispers hoarsely. 'Spank me?'

'Wouldn't be entirely unfounded, giving you a good, hard spanking, would it?'

'No... I...' Draco's breathing quickens and his cock stirs, hardening against Dudley's thigh. 'Please. I deserve it.'

'There is that.' Dudley grins foolishly. He cups Draco's face with one hand, taking in the soft eyes, the eager expression. Dudley slides his fingers through Draco's hair. No need to argue about what they both seem to want so badly. He takes a deep breath, for a moment searching for the mindset that makes him long for someone like Draco: a submissive, willing man, on his knees, ready to fulfil any kinky dream that Dudley has ever had. Pride, love, care, relentless dominance. All must come together to allow Draco the freedom of not having to decide when he does not want to.

Dudley leans in, taking Draco's mouth in possession. The warmth, the eager tongue, the willingness... it is all his, and the dark, deep moan he cannot hold back is his offering to the beautiful man in his arms. For a while, Dudley indulges, touching every spot on Draco's body he can manage to reach. Draco simply melts into him, almost as if he wants to become one with Dudley.

'Dudley...' Draco moans again, letting Dudley carry the most of his weight. Dudley takes that as encouragement. He picks Draco up, and with their mouths connecting once more, he carries Draco into the bedroom, kissing him clumsily as he steps over the threshold. Just before he reaches the bed--their bed--Dudley stops. Although his mind is muddled with lust and the budding love he feels for Draco Malfoy, this is too important to bugger up. He pulls back, still with Draco in his arms.

Insecurely he looks at his lover. 'Draco, I'm not experienced,' he says, and he knows he sounds like a great big oaf. But one visit to a club meeting about how to do things right cannot in any way be described as "experience", just like the fumbling attempts at dominance with a girlfriend, who'd rather they didn't venture into that particular type of games can't be regarded as experience, neither. No, he's not experienced at all, and Draco needs to acknowledge that. There is no limit to Dudley's needs, but there certainly is to his knowledge of what to do with them.

'Then it's good that I am.' Draco leans forward, kissing Dudley's earlobe. 'Teach me what you want. Go slow, and I'll cry "Harry" if you do something I don't like--I'm sure we'll both forget any urgent needs if that name comes up.' He smiles and the smile is Dudley's undoing. 'I trust you.'

And Dudley trusts Draco. He has to. He has to trust that Draco knows what he is doing and that he will stop Dudley the moment their playing becomes too much. There is still Draco's recent trauma to consider. 'A spanking it is, then.'

Draco's reply is yet another moan as Dudley sits down on the bedside, his huge thighs spread. He helps Draco turn, making him sit on his lap, legs spread, too, one on each side of Dudley's hips. 'I want to watch your face,' Dudley whispers. 'I want to watch what this does to you, every moment of it.' Draco looks wonderful, quiet, excited, blushing. 'I'll never allow anyone else to see you like this.' Draco's wet, red lips are tempting, but Dudley is going to wait, wait until Draco is moaning from pain and pleasure. Only then, Dudley will kiss him.

'Promise me,' Draco's pliant body tenses for an instant, 'that I'll be yours.'

'I promise,' Dudley groans and rips Draco's boxers off, his strong hands tearing the fabric as if it had been mere paper. 'Mine!' he growls possessively.

'God!' Draco moans loudly and slings his arms around Dudley's neck, rubbing himself against Dudley's stomach. 'Oh, God, yes, like that!' Draco's prick is wet against Dudley's belly, a clear sign that Draco enjoys this as much as Dudley does. Reaching between them, Dudley pulls out his own cock; it is hard and heavy and as Dudley's pierced cock touches Draco's smaller cock both men groan.

'Thought you'd like that,' Dudley murmurs, unable to sit still with Draco's pert, naked arse dancing on his lap. 'Better than this.' He lands a careful blow on one of Draco's cheeks, watching carefully his expression to judge whether he is handling Draco more roughly than he wants it. Draco closes his eyes and sighs as if the touch is the most delightful thing. Harder, then. The next blow is less gentle, and the third even harder. Soon Draco gasps, moves and groans as Dudley increases the force with which he let a steady stream of quick strokes fall on Draco's arse. Dudley doesn't count the blows, he just watches as Draco becomes more and more unhinged, drowning in the wonderful feeling of pain mixing with arousal and lost control. When a tear rolls down Draco's cheek, Dudley ceases immediately and pulls Draco into his arms. 'Good boy, so good,' Dudley praises his lover and kisses him deeply, filled with an almost unbearable feeling of love and care. It almost makes him come untouched, kissing Draco's mouth, stroking the warm and probably very red skin on Draco's arse. Every time he touches the burning skin, Draco makes those little movements and moans which more than anything tells Dudley, despite his inexperience, that Draco enjoys what is done to him. Very, very much.

Dudley feels as if he's going to explode or burst any moment. He lets go of Draco's arse and sucks a finger, leaving it glistening from spittle. He holds it up for Draco to see. 'I'm going to put this in you, in your tight little arse,' Dudley growls. 'Put your hands over your head, and let them stay there while I finger-fuck you.'

'Yes, Dudley.' Draco sways and thrust his hips forward; the suggestion is definitely not displeasing his royal majesty. Draco pauses, then adds a _please_ which sounds quite a bit as if he is being cheeky.

'Do you need another spanking?' Dudley asks, making himself sound angry. 'Because it is very tempting to make you cry and beg again.'

'No, sir. I'm sorry. I'll behave.'

Dudley thinks he can see appreciation in the way Draco looks at him adoringly. Just to make sure his point is understood, he spanks Draco again, two, three strokes on the right arse cheek. He lets his hand stay and pulls the cheek slightly to one side before he reaches around Draco to slide a finger into his arsehole.

'Oh, _fuck_!' Draco cries out, as close to the edge as Dudley, it seems. 'Oh, Dudley!'

Dudley barely manages to hold Draco as he, with his hands folded behind his head, tries to get the digit deeper inside himself. Dudley grabs a handful of Draco's hair, pulling it harshly. 'Stop that. You'll get it when I say you get it.' Dudley pushes the finger deeper inside, attempting to let another join it, but Draco isn't slick enough.

'Let me, _please_ , Dudley.' Draco has regained some modicum of control over himself. 'I can do it.'

Searchingly, Dudley looks at his lover. Does this mean? He is a wizard after all. But Dudley nods. After all, this is about trust.

Moaning, Draco murmurs something Dudley cannot hear, but suddenly the hole widens around his finger, and lemon-scented oil drips down Draco's thighs.

'Very efficient,' Dudley hears himself say, managing not to get too spooked by the magic that suddenly enters his life in an entirely different way than when Harry was in it. Much better, if Dudley may say so.

Another finger up Draco's arse makes him babble incoherently. Draco moans and moves, rubbing his cock against Dudley's stomach until the throaty sounds he makes are telling Dudley that Draco is too close to coming, something he has not been allowed yet. 'Enough!' Dudley pulls his fingers out roughly, casually wiping them on Draco's cheeks. 'Didn't say you could do that.'

'Sorry! I... you're so good.' Draco shudders as if his arousal sends an electric current through his tense body. 'More?'

'More, _please_!' Dudley pinches Draco's nipple between oil-slick fingers. 'Or else...'

'Looking forward to it.' Draco moves his hands, one slipping between his legs, rubbing his long cock and the firm little bollocks. He grins. 'Or else.'

Dudley hadn't considered that effect. He freezes for a moment, not really sure what to do.

Draco, however, comes to his rescue. He claws Dudley's chest provocatively, his nails making little red tracks on Dudley's skin. 'Make me.'

'Make you?'

'Oh, come on!' Draco's face contracts into an arrogant, displeased expression, clearly to provoke Dudley even more. 'So you were just going to The Hoist to get coffee!'

'No! You know that! But-'

'Just _make_ me! I'm ready! No holding back!'

'I- Oh, God.' Dudley's body feels like a hard-strung bow. The excitement is unbearable. Draco wants harder, rougher, more brutal. Dudley considers for a second whether it is possible to die from arousal. His brain surprisingly starts working. He knows what he wants and Draco is going to give it to him. 'Suck me.' He pulls his trousers further down before he forces Draco down on the floor by the hair until he is on his knees, his head between Dudley's legs. Dudley pulls Draco closer to his cock, hard and wet at the tip, ready for Draco's delicious mouth.

Draco moans by the touch and damned he wasn't lying when he said that he was experienced. Dudley leans back in the bed, hoping that he somehow is able to hold back for more than twenty seconds. The prospect is not promising. A hot tongue slides up and down his shaft, playing with the piercing that crowns the impressive member. Draco swallows him as if he wants to devour Dudley entirely. Hungry little bastard! Dudley closes his eyes and wonders why he had to be almost thirty before he allowed himself this. He has never had better. 'Draco, stop.' Dudley pushes his lover away, barely avoiding the catastrophe that is a premature orgasm.

And this is when Dudley snaps. Draco is on his knees in front of him, his mouth wet from pre-come and his lips glistening invitingly. With messy hair and a face blushing from arousal, Dudley finds Draco utterly enchanting and bewitching. Then Draco looks up at him with beautiful cold, grey eyes and whispers innocently, 'Yes, Dudley' in a way that makes it sound like _Yes, my beloved master, I am here to serve you in any way I am able_. Perhaps that is what Dudley hears just then. Holding back is not an option, and he does no longer lack ideas of what to do with an insolent submissive wizard. He knows that Draco is able to stop him in a second if things become too much.

'Or else,' Dudley growls and grabs Draco's shoulders, pulling him into the bed easily. Draco is dumped unceremoniously on his back and Dudley spreads his slender thighs, hooking one over a massive shoulder. 'I'll give you _or else_!'

 _Or else_ possibly has the size of a heavy, long, thick cock. For that is precisely what Dudley gives his lover - no mercy, just a hard cock up the slick, widened hole. 'You're not allowed to come before I'm done fucking you,' Dudley barks, moaning and panting as he thrusts into Draco's body. Draco is just letting him do what he wants, all the time making little mewling noises that makes Dudley even more excited. And Draco _looks_ at him, all the time those loving grey eyes which are both cold and warm at the same time.

'So good,' Draco finally breathes. 'So good... oh, oh!' His face contracts in an attempt to hold back his release, and Dudley takes mercy in him. He reaches down and closes his hand around Draco's rock-hard erection. He moves it quickly, tightly, almost squeezing cries and semen from Draco. Draco's body tenses, his muscles tight around Dudley's cock.

It is enough for Dudley. He cannot keep himself from coming. 'Draco! Fuck!' Dudley thrusts into Draco, four, five times as he comes in an orgasm so perfect that Dudley thinks that he perhaps has died and gone to heaven. Draco's pulsing cock sends warm splashes of come over Dudley's hand, and as he comes back from the trip to heaven, he cannot keep himself from tasting it, tasting Draco, holding up his fingers proudly to show Draco that Dudley loves all of him, every little aspect.

Draco in turn, just watches Dudley tiredly, as if he is on the brink of falling asleep. He has the same relaxed, sleepy attitude as a cat, caught in the sun.

Dudley smiles. 'You all right?'

'Yeah. 's good.' Draco raises a hand, slowly, and it hangs in the air, almost pleadingly. 'Going to sleep with me now?' he murmurs and let the hand fall back in bed. 'So tired.'

'Want a bath?' Dudley asks, feeling slightly sticky. He doesn't mind going to bed with Draco's scent and semen smeared all over him, but a bath would be nice.

Draco murmurs something that sounds like _scorchify_ , leaving Dudley feeling as if he'd just been scrubbed with a brush all over. It probably works for Draco too, because he breathes deeply and reaches for Dudley. 'Sleep?'

'I have to admit wizards aren't as useless as I thought,' Dudley says, lying down next to Draco. He pulls the duvet over them, sighing satisfied as Draco cuddles up in his arms. He turns off the lamp on the bedside table.

'Happy,' Draco mumbles into Dudley's chest, then he giggles.

'Okay?' Dudley asks and kisses Draco on the cheek. 'Nothing wrong, is there?'

'Telling Potter,' Draco manages before he falls asleep, this time there is no nightmare to disturb him.

Dudley laughs softly. Yes, there is a tale to be told. He doesn't think his parents will be happy about their new son-in-law, either. For now, he doesn't care. For now, he will just cherish all that his wonderful Draco is: lover, submissive, wizard, human. Dudley feels happy and wanted and useful, and that is all that matters. Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of his life with Draco, and what anybody else thinks about that... it doesn't really matter at all.


End file.
